The Carnivorous Pony
by Lurker
Summary: Summary: A hilariously convoluted and contrived series of events leads to meticulously described goings on in broom closets and other uncomfortable and/or exposed areas of the school. (All brains to be left at the door, please)
1. Chapter One

THE CARNIVOROUS PONY

Summary: A hilariously convoluted and contrived series of events leads to meticulously described goings on in broom closets and other uncomfortable and/or exposed areas of the school.  No one's worried about Professor Flitwick disturbing the oral sex, and its ok, cause that never happens!

(All brains to be left at the door, please)

Chapter 1

Disclaimer:  Neither Aunt nor Auntie owns any of the characters in Harry Potter.  Nor do we own Niels Bohr, Louis Theroux or Phil Collins.  In fact, we own nothing but a set of mismatched pencils and a red jumper, so suing us would not be worth your while.

It all started off in potions.  No one really knows why it always starts off in potions, although the widely held theory is that the presence of Professor Snape, who, despite being a greasy, vindictive man, old enough to be any of his class's father, is in fact a sex god biding his time and exerting his influences on the students.

"You should have prepared your recipes for your truth potions by now." He said, leering at Lavender Brown, who, instead of running away screaming simply giggled. "We will be testing them at the end of the class."

The class brewed their potions without much event, although several of them were realising how attractive their potions teacher actually was.  Ron wondered why he'd never noticed that that mysterious smell of mildew that hung about Snape's person was actually essence of muskrat, his favourite smell…

"Right, goblets out and test your potions."

Hermione raised her potion to her lips, ready to drink it, when a drop of water from the damp dungeon ceiling splashed into her cup, turning the potion from crystal clear to mucky brown.

"Noooooo!" Snape yelled, diving across several desks to knock the cup out of her hand, but he was too late.  On swallowing some of the potion, Hermione had turned into a broom.  Not a Firebolt or a Nimbus 2001, either, but the sort of broom Filch used to sweep up after Peeves.

Everyone gasped, except Draco Malfoy, who had been seized with the need to list all the euphemisms for 'erection' that he'd ever heard, and had not noticed.

"Dammit!" shouted Snape, "I always hoped this wouldn't happen to one of _my_ students…" here, he couldn't resist a trademark leer, "the drinker of a truth potion mixed with dungeon water is instantly transported to another dimension and is replaced with an ordinary household object.  Someone will have to go after Hermione and bring her back."

Everyone looked thunderstruck.

"I'll do it!" shouted Malfoy, who was imagining he'd been offered the chance to write the definitive work on euphemisms.

"Excellent, Mr Malfoy," said Snape, "I'll get the dungeon water."

Draco Malfoy accepted the challenge, because he had not been paying attention. Now he was quite pleased that he had, for no other reason than that he had a broom fetish. 

Not a mild one at that, but an obscene liking for them that was hardly less than concupiscent.

He liked the shape of the handle, the way that it shined in the moonlight, and most of all, the pointed twigs in the brush. He shuddered; just thinking about it gave him ideas for the definitive works on euphemisms.

Professor Snape sauntered up a ladder to get some dungeon water off the ceiling. He climbed the ladder as ostentatiously as possible, and everyone knew he only did it to give the class a peek at his chamber of secrets. They all obliged, gathering at the foot of the ladder, gazing into the folds of his underskirts. His discipline was at best; lax when it came to horny students, but that was the view the school took.

As Professor Snape descended the ladder, trying to please his fans, he curtsied on the bottom step.

And in true movie fashion, DISASTER STRUCK,

Professor Snape tripped, spilling the potion over the whole class. Everyone who had been touched with it was replaced. Snape nonchalantly turned to walk out of the classroom, but paused at what had replaced Malfoy. It was a tin of pink emulsion. Snape raised one eyebrow and quickly hid the tin under his robes. He would have fun with that later.

It is entirely possible that the class had ended up in a completely other dimension and were, at that very moment learning about each other's hidden sensitive sides, or unwittingly taking part in ancient mating rituals.

You, dear reader, will have to wait for the next instalment of The Carnivorous Pony to find out…


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter two

Authors note: Your humble servants the authors have received several e-mails outlining the readers' worries that our revered heroes may, at some point during the story be forced to face some kind of impending disaster, Dark Lord or other nasty.  You can be assured that this will not happen, and ask the readers to put their trust in our complete professionalism as writers of fan fiction.  After all, who wants Boggarts and Dementors when the whole potions class is in the same broom closet?

The potions class were in a broom closet, a very small broom closet, piled on top of one another. Harry, who had his little finger up Dean Thomas' nostril, started crying inwardly as his fear that the Dark Lord would harm people who were special to him while he was incapacitated in a broom closet came true.  He didn't say anything, as he didn't want to appear melodramatic and also because someone was jamming his jaw shut with both their heels.

"Hey, I found Crabbe's tie on the bottle of Mr Skower's All-purpose Magical Mess Remover!" said Goyle.

"How did that get there?" asked Crabbe.

"Heh. Heh." Said Harry, whose mind had never seen a gutter before, but had started insinuating things nevertheless.

"Goyle, that's not a bottle of Mr Skower's All-purpose Magical Mess Remover, that's Crabbe's neck." Someone inconsequential to this particular plot pointed out. (However, this person did have quite a large part in a small English film that never made it to production, suspiciously titled 'The Wooden Mushroom'.)

There was silence for a few minutes, while everyone waited for an explanation of what had happened.  No one was forthcoming.  Despite the close conditions inside the cupboard, everyone was too polite to look at each other.  After about fifteen minutes of watching a small patch of wall, Hermione removed Pansy Parkinson's elbow from her mouth in order to break he tense silence.

"Shall we play a game to pass the time?" she asked.

"Heh."

"Engorged drumstick" Malfoy said, accidentally voicing his ideas for the book he was planning to write, aptly titled 'Me and my euphemisms' 

"That's not a game" Seamus Finnegan replied inquisitively.

"Spin the bottle" Hermione proposed.

And as all teenagers do, when accidentally stuck in broom cupboards, the potions class haphazardly attempted to play a three-dimensional game of spin the bottle. This was partly due to the fact that many people were perched on shelves higher in the cupboard, and partly so that they could use magic for something other than unlocking doors and turning animals into small objects.

*****

Meanwhile in the staff room, professor McGonagall was drinking a cup of herbal tea, pondering how her life would be different if professor Trelawney was indeed a giant, glittering bug.

*****

The bottle spun, and pointed to Malfoy, he groaned, and then flicked his wand to spin again, to see who he would be paired with. It pointed between Harry and Hermione, into the corner of the cupboard.

"Spin again Malfoy"

"No, no, it landed on that broom" Malfoy replied, trying to convince the rest of the class, so that he could have his way with the broom for the next twenty minutes,

"I do not remember anyone specifying when we started the game, that inanimate objects were included"

"I do not remember anyone saying they weren't." Was Malfoy's only comeback before he grabbed the broom and tried to conceal it and himself behind Ron.  Ron, I am sorry to say provided very little in the way of concealment, but your kind writers will refrain from any detailed description in this instance. (Don't think you'll be so lucky later on.)

The students' enthusiasm for the game was somewhat diminished by Malfoy's antics.  Most were keener to be involved in the broom activities than is a game of Spin the Floating Bottle.  Malfoy, however, was having none of it and drew his wand on anyone who got to close to him and his inanimate companion.  A small scuffle ensued, which would have been inconsequential but for the fact that is took place in a very small space.  Several people ended up with grievous such injuries and Flicked Forehead and Bent Back Finger.

"Everyone Just Chill!" said Neville, in an attempt to end the brawl.  No one thought it strange that Neville, an English adolescent, had use the word "chill", along with three capital letters in a row.

The fighting stopped.

"This broom's mine!" Malfoy shouted, "anyone who comes near her…I'll kill them.  I'm never going to stop trying to seduce her.  She's perfect.  An ice crystal, sparkling in a dark cave…a handle made by the gods and bristles like, like the sun coming out on a cloudy day…"

He went on in this vain for some time.  The rest of the class decided to pass the time by doing playing Truth or Dare.  For some reason, they hadn't grown out of Truth or Dare in Year 6, like the rest of the world.

*****

"I insist on knowing what Severus has under his robes." Said Professor McGonagall severely, "it could be an illicit substance!"

*****

"Hey!" Malfoy cried, in a short moment of coherence, "Snape gave me the antidote to the Inanimate Object potion.  Lets take it and get outta here."

"Malfoy's never said 'outta' before, has he?  Something must be up with him." whispered Harry, drinking his antidote with everyone else. Malfoy and Harry, it seemed, had been hit with Neville's bug. It was known at St. Mungo's as 'American phrase syndrome'.

*****

"Oh, for goodness sakes, it's just some pink paint!" said Snape, "it's for my own personal use.  Although," he looked meaningfully at McGonagall, "I could be persuaded to let you have a look.  If you're _very kind to me…"_

Snape took the paint from under his robes and held it up for the room to see.  Unfortunately, at the moment of removal, the tin turned into Draco Malfoy.  Surprised, and rather annoyed (McGonagall wouldn't be interested now that there wasn't any pink paint), Snape dropped Malfoy on his head.

"Keep away from my broom, all of you!" Malfoy snarled, before passing out. 

However, dearest readers, rest assured!  Malfoy will not be severely damaged with such grievous injuries, as our other heroes were.  Please review. Flames welcome.


	3. Chapter Three

Authors Note: Aunt and Auntie wish to apologise for any disrespect caused to the owner of the most suspicious phrase 'the wooden mushroom'. We are truly sorry we borrowed it, and it will be returned with as little copyright infringements as possible.  Aunt would like to thank the Red Hot Chili Peppers' lyricist, for providing a euphemism for this chapter.  She has underlined all the euphemisms, for the readers' convenience.

As Malfoy was floated up to the hospital wing by professor McGonagall, Snape silently cursed himself.

He had all that time alone with the tin of pink paint, and he still had not had enough time to act on his urges.

"Damn you Malfoy" He cursed, why did he have to turn up at the most crucial moment? He had been just about to open the lid….

***

When Malfoy woke up, he realised within seconds that he had been separated from what only hours ago had given him a good time.

Where was his precious broom?  Already, the cold feeling of her absence was creeping in.  I need her, he thought, she carries me down into the water of love.

He took out a notebook and wrote this down.  It was much needed progress in his work "Me and My Euphemisms.  The story, which was semi-autobiographical, had been inspired by this magnificent object, which was at present, thrown aimlessly onto the bed next to him. She was his muse, and Madame Pomfrey had abandoned her.

Malfoy, got out of bed, grabbed her and ran. He felt sure that Madame Pomfrey had attempted to steal the one shining ray of hope in his life. 

'I will never let anyone ever hurt you again' he said as ran down the hall clutching her. He wanted to give her up, about as much as he wanted to contract a rare fungal disease from the foothills of Mt. Pinatubo. 

Meanwhile, the rest of our protagonists were congregated in the Great Hall.  Ron had received an interesting and unexpected letter from his mother.  He read bits of it aloud to Hermione and Harry.

"…oh, and before I forget, your brother Hank has come back from St Mungo's.  He should be arriving at Hogsmeade on the 18th of March.  Try to make him feel at home, you know how he has trouble making friends, what with him never having lived at home, but in Manhatten…"

Here, Ron trailed off for no particular reason.

"Hank? Coming here?" he asked aloud.

"Who's Hank?" asked Harry, taking a bite of breakfast.

"Oh, he's my twin brother.  He's been living in America for the last few years.  I thought he'd be coming soon, but not this soon."

"Wow. Cool." Said Harry, who didn't seem surprised at the news at all, even though Ron was his best friend and had never even uttered a word to the extent of him having another sibling.

"Yes, when's he coming?" asked Hermione, equally unperturbed by the unusual fact that Mrs Weasley had had two sets of twins.

"Um, it says here the 18th of March, so that's…four days ago."

"Oh.  So, is he in Gryffindor?"

"Yeah, he's sitting next to Hermione."

Slightly, startled, Hermione looked round, expecting to see another Ron, only a bit more American.  She had already made up her mind to fall madly in love with this enigmatic foreigner named Hank.  Her eyes were not disappointed as they mat a pair of grey green eyes.  They reminded her of the sea she'd grown up on, when her parents had been sailing dentists.

***

Harry and Ron had left their friend alone with Hank.  They'd been fairly sure from the start that the two would realise their true feelings for each other, although Ron had been worried that Hank's semi-corporeal form would put a dampener on things.

The two decided to hang out in front of the statue of Uric the Oddball in the basement.  No one really came there much, because it was rumoured to be haunted by a strange presence, which smelt vaguely of chilli.  Harry and Ron however didn't believe a word of it.  Despite their joint ability to control the world around them using only words and a piece of wood, they didn't believe in such nonsense.

"Anyway, so I walked in and Nearly Headless Nick and Fawkes were—" thankfully, Harry was cut off by a chill breeze, which rustled the boy's hair in a strangely uniform way. 

"Don't people know how much money is wasted by leaving windows open?" asked Ron, angrily.  "I mean, the double glazing is there for a reason, people!"  American phrase syndrome had temporarily affected him. It was catching really fast.

"Ron, there aren't any windows in this corridor.  Its underground."

"Huh.  So they went out of their way to leave a window open!"

"Ron, there's something weird going on…"

Harry's suspicions were confirmed as swirling winds tugged at their clothing.  Some of the gusts seemed to converge is a certain spot, forming a wavering mirage.  It looked like a girl, about their age, wearing a strange outfit…a sweater and a pleated skirt?  Whoever designed this had NO fashion sense, thought Harry (who still hadn't realised that he flew for the other team)

"…Draco Malfoy is a sexy beast…"

The vision spoke these few cryptic words then faded, like summer rain, and was gone.

***

Harry had time to wonder about the sudden apparition that he had seen in the hallways, and the next day before herbology, he had managed to pull Hermione aside for a quick talk. Her response about the whole situation was to Harry's horror to consult a book. 

Therefore, the next day, Harry trudged along to the library wearing his most subdued expression, ready for a hard day of page flicking.

He had been through half the shelves in the deadly apparitions' section, when he came across Magnificent Mirages by Percy Weasley. He didn't know Percy had written a book. He flicked through the contents, mirages in fire, mirages in soil, mirages in various bodily fluids, 'ah' he said, a little too loudly, when he reached mirages with wind.

He opened the book to page 666. He then read

_Many wind mirages can be seen throughout the land, but none is more suspect than the Pervy Fancius……_

Hmmm, he thought, I have read this somewhere before.  Harry tapped his teeth with a pencil, shattering his right canine.

"Damn these weak teeth!" he shouted, feeling rather our of character, and went off in search of some calcium.

Yes, dear readers, we must leave you there for now, and you shall have to wait until next time for the next instalment of The Carnivorous Pony. We are terribly sorry that there will be more waiting, unless of course you own a time machine, or have access to an object not unlike the one dubiously stationed outside our school canteen badly disguised as a kitchen appliance. 


	4. Chapter Four

The Carnivorous Pony Chapter 4

This chapter is dedicated to Lana and Swifty, our hilarious fellow authors.

Aunt and Auntie must express their deepest sympathies about the fact that time travel will no longer be an option for our loyal readers. The aforementioned instrument of time travel has met its untimely demise, and since then, the real truth has been sought. It was infact disguised as a trash compactor. So please read our humble story, as this will be the only opportunity in this particular dimension. Flames welcome, and to the real pervy fanciers and badger farm owners everywhere, do not be offended, we mean you no harm. We must also proclaim that we do not own the incident of the lip licking, as this was entirely thought up by those clever and imaginative people at Warner Bros in their most recent adaptation of Harry Potter.

"So," Ron stated, trying to sound as interested as possible, even though he had only just taken a mouthful of liver sausage, and was more interested in that.

"That thing we saw in the hallways yesterday was a Pervy Fancius," Harry told his friend, who seemed to become more and more disinterested by the second.

"A what?" Ron questioned. "That thing, that appeared yesterday and told us that Malfoy was a sexy beast was a Pervy Fancius?" Ron was really getting good at honing his ability for stating the obvious.

"Yea man," Harry replied, in the way that he had done for the fifth time that morning, and the seventh time since the questioning began. Harry had unfortunately been struck by the newest, more deadly strain of American Phrase Syndrome, known by 'people in the know' as the silent- H virus.

"So," Ron said again, with about half as much enthusiasm as he had used earlier, whilst taking yet another mouthful of liver sausage. "Where is Hermione?"

Harry looked around, he had noticed that Hermione was not there, but he had immediately dismissed it, as he thought it was perfectly normal for Hermione to be informed after Ron of important plot developments.

"I think she is trying to spend as much time with Hank before his own untimely demise." 

"Oh, ok." Ron mumbled, not in the slightest disconcerted about the reference to his own sibling kicking the bucket. "Do you think we should tell Malfoy about the Pervy Fancius?"

"Yea man," Harry replied, earning yet another groan from Ron, who had only this morning told him, that if he kept up with his affliction, he would ring the American Phrase Helpline Hotline, so that Harry could seek help from those specially trained in helping youngsters with their phrase problems.

So, despite the fact that Harry still didn't know whether he preferred pink instead of blue, and that he almost certainly detested Malfoy, he and Ron skipped over to start a conversation with him.

"Good Day Malfoy," Harry called from across the Great Hall, trying to sound as English as possible, so that Ron would not suspect him to be secretly pleased that he had contracted the newest strain of his most favourite virus.

And despite the fact that Malfoy found it extremely odd and extremely irritating to be talking to his worst enemy, he decided to stop stroking her under the table, and reply. 

For a fleeting second he though about plastering a sneer across his face, which he had decided, was not in the slightest aristocratic, but in the circumstances he decided against it, as he didn't want it to be misconstrued as a sexy leer.

"Malfoy, last night Ron and I encountered a thing in the halls, a Pervy Fancius, that told us…" Harry left off there hoping to add some mystery to the conversation.

"What?" said Malfoy, desperately hoping that nothing of his Broom Perving had got out.

Ron, mistaking Harry's obvious attempt to sound more mysterious as a sign that his memory was failing him, finished the sentence, "Malfoy is a sexy beast.

"Ooh- err Weasley. I didn't know that you bowled for the other team!" said Pansy Parkinson, who couldn't help interjecting into the conversation, (if only to get herself mentioned).

"Not me, I don't think it…it was the Pervy Fancius." Ron mentally kicked himself. Now, come to think of it, he had done so much mental kicking since the story began that he was surprised his brain was not in the intensive care ward at St. Mungo's.

"That's what they all say," Pansy continued.

"Pansy, piss off, you are taking up time which could be much better used for my indecent thoughts." Malfoy tried hard to force away a sneer, not wanting to be thought of as sexy in anyone's eyes but hers. If only she had eyes, he mused…

"What did it look like? Was it polished? Or did it have twigs?" Malfoy asked trying to salvage what was left of this pitiful excuse for conversation.

"No, no, nothing like that!" Harry said, whilst wondering if Malfoy could possibly be the infamous Hogwarts Broom Perver that they had all heard so much about, but never knew the identity of.

"If truth be told, she resembled a 15-year-old girl with dark brown hair and glasses. She wore a purple knee length kilt, and a v-neck jumper, with two grey stripes on the cuffs, and a lilac blouse." Harry hoped that no one thought too deeply about his obvious interest in fashion.

No one had noticed about the side effects of the silent-H virus. As Harry was trying to combat it, he had unfortunately contracted the Impossibly English disease.

_How ghastly _thought Malfoy, "Are you sure there were absolutely no twigs?"

"YES" said Ron, "Hank," he called, running to meet him. "Where is Hermione?"

Hank's eyeballs rolled backward in their non-existent eye sockets.

"Oh there you are Hermione!"  Ron proclaimed, a little surprised, whilst Hermione marvelled at Ron's talent of not being able to see past the end of his nose. 

[A/N: And in order to divert some of the attention away from out current characters, so that not too much mental kicking follows, we introduce another…]

Neville, lurking slyly in the corner of Harry's vision, licked his lips.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry asked, even though he knew the answer perfectly well

It was common knowledge among the students that Neville had a thing for large hairy men.  Harry was not at all worried about this, as he was busy wondering if the Pervy Fancius would like to go out to dinner with him.

****

Meanwhile, Hank and Hermione had slipped off together for a romantic swim in the lake.

"I hope we're not eaten by the giant squid or mermaids or captured by grindylows, my sparkling fragment of deliciousness." Hank remarked, looking at Hermione lovingly.  (Lets face it, he couldn't do much else)

"Don't worry my heaven-breathed stallion, all of those things mysteriously disappear when we go swimming." Hermione replied, gently biting the space where she supposed Hank's ear would be.

"Ah," said Hank, "where do they all go, my shining gazelle?"

"Oh, a broom cupboard somewhere, I expect.  GAAH!!" was Hermione's answer.  She had not shouted like that because, as you might think, she had found 50p behind Hank's non-existent ear.  In fact, her exclamation was due to the fact that Professor Snape had just landed with a none too un-almighty crash into the Great Lake.

To our wonderful devoted readers (all 3 of you), Aunt and Auntie seem to have stumbled in a pothole on the road to hilarity and need the aid of our fellow laughter enthusiasts in order to continue. We need someone familiar with the finer grammar points on fictionalley.org willing to help us edit the fic so it can be published and some suggestions for side-splitting chapter titles wouldn't go amiss. Merci and happy laughing to you all.


End file.
